Drunk Conversations
by chakun24664
Summary: Sherlock's drunk. Mrs. Hudson's frantic. John's on his honeymoon. Molly's in for a marvelous night.


A/N: I do not own Sherlock or any characters. I wish I did, but I probably wouldn't be able to pull it off as marvelously as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss have done. Oh, well, moving on.

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**Drunk Conversations**

The music for 'Jaws' rang out, breaking the cold silence in the morgue. Molly Hooper looked up from the cadaver she was examining, sighing as the familiar music continued to ring out. Removing her bloody gloves, she made her way to her desk and picked up her mobile phone. The world's only consulting detective's name flashed on the screen and Molly smiled sardonically as the ascending tone of Jaws continued to fill the air. It was so appropriate sometimes. Taking a deep breath, Molly moved the mobile to her ear and answered.

"Hello?" she asked tentatively, wincing slightly at the hesitant tone.

"Hello, Molly dear?" It was most definitely not Sherlock.

"Mrs. Hudson? What are you doing with Sherlock's phone?"

"Oh, Molly you need to come right away!" The landlady sounded distressed and Molly felt her skin turn cold as all sort of thoughts invaded her head. The thought that something had happened to Sherlock filled her with cold dread.

"What's wrong? What happened? Is someone hurt?" she calmly asked the frightened older woman. She was grateful her voice did not betray the fear running through her now.

"I-it's Sh-sherlock dear." Mrs. Hudson sobbed out, her voice shaky and worried. Molly's grip on her phone tightened and she quickly moved into action.

"What happened to Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson?" she asked as she picked up her bag.

"He came home drunk dear and I don't know what to do with him. John isn't hear and all and I didn't know who else to call. Oh-" Molly paused as she reached for her coat.

"What?" she cut off, not really believing what she was hearing. She pinched the bridge of her nose. What good timing for John to be on his honeymoon. But, Molly knew Sherlock enough to know that _because _John was in his bloody honeymoon was the reason they were probably in this situation.

"Well, I was asleep, you see, then I suddenly heard this loud thump. So, naturally, I got up to check." She paused waiting for Molly to respond.

"Naturally." She managed to answer calmly.

"And, when I came out to the hall I saw Sherlock. He reeked of alcohol, dear, and he was slumped against the stairs. He looked like he was about to go up when his body finally caved in."

"Yes."

"I tried to help him up, I couldn't even lift him. It's my hip you see. I don't know what to do, dear."

"Oh," Molly reached for her coat again and resisted the urge to let out another heavy sigh, " Okay, I'll get there immediately Mrs. Hudson."

"All right. Thank you Molly." The old woman replied, relief in her voice, before she hung up. Molly put on her coat and briskly walked out. She needed to pick up a few things at the store first and find a replacement for her. Snapping out her phone again she called Mike. Molly had a feeling this was going to be a long, long night.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door for her and Molly saw a slumped down man on the stairwell. The stench of alcohol hit her even from the doorway. Placing the paper bags she brought in Mrs. Hudson's outstretched hands, she moved towards the sleeping detective. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes assaulted her nose as she bent over him. She grimaced and checked his eyes. Yup, definitely passed out. Straightening, Molly turned towards the fretting Mrs. Hudson behind her and managed a small smile to ease the old lady's worry.

"He's fine Mrs. Hudson. Just pissed drunk is all." She laughed a bit, trying to make a joke of it. The landlady managed to let out a giggle.

"I'm really sorry for bothering you like this Molly."Mrs. Hudson said as she regarded Molly worriedly. Molly shrugged and gave her another smile.

"It's quite all right, Mrs. Hudson. My shift was over anyway," A lie, but the older woman didn't need to know that, "and I'm Sherlock's friend too so I'm happy to help."

"Okay, dear. I'll get this upstairs and come down so we can carry him up."

"Uh, no need. I'm sure I can manage. Can you prepare some clean clothes and his bed please?"

"Oh, all right, but are you sure you'll be fine on your own? Sherlock's quite heavy, even if he looks so thin."

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't you worry, Mrs. Hudson. I'm a strong girl." She replied, all the while keeping a smile on her face. Mrs. Hudson nodded and gave her a smile before she scurried up the stairs.

Molly bent over the passed out detective. Her cold hand touched his face and he groaned. Guess he wasn't fully out of it. Pulling his prone arm and putting it around her shoulder she heaved him up and braced her other arm around him. He let out a groan, the smell of alcohol wafting up to her. Molly almost gagged. A laugh escaped her lips at the thought, Molly Hooper gagging because of the detective that was new.

Shuffling his body so that his full weight was on her, Molly tried to move a step up but ended up on a heap beside Sherlock. Molly was going to kill him when he feels better. He was too heavy for her and she could feel a dull pain on her hip where she had hit it on a step. She let out another sigh and sat up, her brows furrowing in worry. The urge to leave him there was overwhelming but, he probably wouldn't appreciate it when he woke up the next day. Knowing that she couldn't very well carry him up the stairs on her own, she had to either call Mrs. Hudson for help or somehow rouse him awake. Shrugging her shoulders slightly, Molly decided on the latter. Moving so that she hovered over him, she tried to shake him awake.

"Sherlock. Sherlock, you need to wake up." The detective only groaned and shifted slightly.

"Sherlock, Sherlock," she gently patted his cheek. She'd always dreamed of touching Sherlock's marvellous cheeks, but never did she imagine it was going to be like this. The detective continued to ignore her. Molly's nerves wore thin and she pinched her nose again in frustration.

"Sherlock Holmes!" she shouted into his ear. The detective suddenly sat up in alarm. His usual clear and alert eyes were glassy but it moved around, observing the surroundings. His eyes landed on her. A confused frown graced his face. Molly almost laughed. He looked like a petulant child with his red cheeks, small pout and confused look. Then his pout shifted to a grin. Molly's smile disappeared, her breath hitched. He looked so boyish then. He looked so bloody cute and handsome at the same time, his eyes smiling up at her. Familiar warmth spread over her cheeks.

"Molly! What are you doing here?" he asked. Typical, even when he was so bloody pissed he could still make her heart go crazy. She almost believed he wasn't drunk if it wasn't for the slight slur in his words and an unusually happy chirp in his voice. Taking a breath, she gave him a small smile and watched him blink at her before returning his own goofy smile. Facing away from the all too appealing drunk state of Sherlock, she reached down for his arm, intending to carry him up to his room.

"You're smiling." He said as she took his arm and manoeuvred him to put it around her shoulders and coerce him into a standing position. He obeyed, although a bit slowly as he swayed, clearly having a hard time keeping himself upright.

"Yes, Sherlock." She groaned out as she suddenly felt his full weight shift unto hers as he staggered to his feet. Wrapping her arm around his back she was able to steady him and balance out the weight.

"I've always liked your smile." He whispered as they took a step up. Molly's breath hitched and she turned towards the detective. She came face to face with his silvery green blue eyes. Molly knew those eyes shifted colour depending on the light, but right now they looked like the colour of a calm sea. Their faces were mere inches away. Molly didn't mind the stench of alcohol on his breath or the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke, when he was looking at her like that. Like she was all he really needed and she was the one who made him happy. He blinked. She blinked. A boyish grin appeared on his face again and he giggled a bit before he blinked again and let out a small hiccup. His face scrunched up in confusion, a pouty frown on his face as he hiccupped again. Molly bit her lip to stop her laugh, a smile making its way on her face. He turned towards her again and gave her another boyish grin. It was all too much for Molly Hooper. Who knew Sherlock Holmes was an adorable drunk? Who knew there could be an adorable drunk?

"Hello." He said. Giving him another smile, Molly turned away from his gaze and silently lectured herself as she made to move another step up. Sherlock mimicked her steps, but his eyes stayed trained on her face. Molly ignored him. Determined to get him to bed and leave immediately, she tried to move him faster up the stairs but the detective took languid unstable steps. Sneaking a peek at him, Molly saw he had finally turned his eyes away from her, now his brows furrowed in concentration as he looked at their slow shuffling feet. He muttered under his breath, a small smile playing on his lips. She couldn't make out the words, her concentration fully on trying to get them up the stairs without breaking their necks. Once again, his head swivelled towards her, they almost stumbled. With a determined look, Molly ignored his stare.

"You smell nice, Molly." Her breath hitched. Again. This was bloody ridiculous. She pulled him up another step.

"Can't say the same for you, Sherlock." She muttered. Another step.

"Vanilla." He muttered. Step. She didn't bother to answer.

"Strawberries." He muttered once again.

"What?" she couldn't help but ask. Step.

"Strawberries and Vanilla. You smell like strawberries and vanilla." He replied with a winsome grin on his face as he turned to her for a second. Molly gulped then turned away again. This was becoming extremely dangerous. Step.

"I've always loved strawberries." Step.

"Fuck." Step. His head turned to her in surprise, he didn't see the step and they almost fell forward as he stumbled. Molly braced herself. They didn't fall and die. A breath escaped her lips.

"You never curse." He muttered again. Molly heaved him up to an upright position again, fixing the arm around her shoulder.

"I do." She bit out. Step.

"You do not. Even when you're extremely angry with me," his voice suddenly softened as they took another step up, "not even when I've hurt you, Molly."

This was getting bloody ridiculous, even if it was Sherlock Holmes. How many bloody steps were there? With a determined look on her face, she didn't bother to answer, instead taking one more step up. They were almost there. This asinine truth telling would be over and she could go home. She could forget all he said and with how pissed drunk he was, he probably wouldn't even remember.

"Molly?" She almost groaned. The urge to not answer was overwhelming but his voice had a hint of sadness and loneliness she couldn't deny. Step.

"Hmm?" Step.

"Do you hate me?" Molly paused and she turned to him. He didn't look at her. She wanted to say yes, knowing he won't remember and maybe he'll stop talking if she did. But, she knew he was serious and that it was important to him. Letting out a sigh, she faced forward again and took another step up.

"No, Sherlock." She answered softly. Step.

"Why?" he asked, his voice so small it was like a whisper he didn't want her to hear.

"Why would I?" she asked back. Step.

"Because I'm me," his forehead furrowed and his voice had a tinge of anger, "I keep saying the most hurtful things and make you cry." Step. Molly waited a moment to answer. She shifted her hands around him and braced him better against her, trying to buy some time.

"Molly?" his voice was small. It almost broke her heart. Determinedly she cast her eyes downward and tried to focus on getting them another step up.

"That doesn't make me hate you, Sherlock," she whispered feeling his eyes on her, "It's what makes you, you. Besides, I'm a tough girl, you know, honestly, you've never seen me cry, have you?" Molly gave him a reassuring smile.

His gaze met hers and flickered over her face, trying to see and read her mind. The glassy red eyes told her he was still drunk. For once she was glad he was drunk, he wouldn't be able to tell she was fibbing about not crying. She had bawled her eyes out multiple times because of his sharp words. He shook his head like a belligerent child. It was amazing how he could still carry a normal conversation with her given how drunk he was. Well, it wasn't exactly a normal conversation, but still.

"See? I admit your words do hurt sometimes, but it's how you are. It's how you think. Plus, you try to say sorry now whenever you go overboard and act like a complete ass, so it's all right," they finally reached the landing and she faced him, giving him a smile as she steadied him," besides, I love you just the way you are, Sherlock."

At her words, his glazed eyes slightly widened. The weight of her words sunk in and a blush spread over her cheeks. A boyish grin once again appeared on his face and just like before she felt her breath caught as he leaned in their faces mere inches away. He was so close she could feel his breath on her lips.

"Thank you, Molly Hooper." That was when Sherlock Holmes, promptly passed out. Again.

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A/N: So, tell me what you think. Hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading! Please leave a review and I'll give you a virtual massive bear hug! :)

P.S. Sorry for any grammatical errors. Thanks! :)


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